The Beggar's Opera debuted in 1728 in London. It was an immediate success, breaking all previous records and was performed more than any other play during the 18th century.(1) It was a complete departure from the popular Italian operas of its time. Beggar's Opera used both dialogue and music to further the story. Gay took music from whereever he could find them. Forty-one of the sixty-nine airs were broadside ballads of the time. The other tunes were borrowed from contemporary composers (including Handel and Pepush). To these tunes he wrote lyrics to fit his play. Instead of taking his plot from myth he wrote a story focused on the underbelly of society - thieves, whores, fences and jailers. The world of the Beggar's opera is gritty and real, it's end optimistic only because of the popular insistence that Operas must end happily.

Includes a selection of three of Vivaldi's best concerti grossi performed by the expert Canadian period-instrument ensemble Tafelmusik under Jeanne Lamon partnered with a solo motet, Il turbato mare irato, the solo cantata Lungi dal vago volo, and the second version of Vivaldi's first Magnificat. In the solo vocal works is laudable English soprano Emma Kirkby negotiating the treacherous terrain of In turbato mare irato with seeming ease, even though much of the music is written in the alto range. Kirkby's singing also adds considerable character and sparkle to Lungi dal vago volo, a solo vocal piece where Vivaldi's instrumental accompaniment is so sparse it leaves the soloist exposed and with little opportunity to rest. Lungi dal vago volo is written for a singer of exceptional ability, and Kirkby is more than merely up to the challenge.

mercoledì 1 ottobre 2014

A Medieval Journey provides you with more than seven hours of the finest medieval music, all placed in its appropriate historical context. By Ensemble Organum, Deller Consort, Soeur Marie Keyrouz, The Newberry Consort, The Hilliard Ensemble, Clemencic Consort, et alter.

Andrew Manze revisits Vivaldi with this compendium of six concertos written for Charles VI. It's an unusual collection: like the more famous Op. 9 concertos nicknamed "La Cetra", these six, taken from a larger set of 12 concertos, bear the same nickname. Never published (and offered here in reconstructed form), these works are full of strange harmonies and unsettling melodies. As Manze muses in his liner notes, it's quite possible that these concertos simply may have been too daring for publication. (Even today, these concertos might well prick the ears of those looking for gentle Baroque background music.)

Manze's scholarship and careful study are as fine as ever, leading to some surprising choices. RV 271, for example, is nicknamed "L'Amoroso", so Manze & Co. have dropped the harpsichord continuo in favor of the "lover's instrument", the baroque guitar. But the great fun here is to be found in the playing; Manze and the English Concert are firebrands who simply torch these scores, and this is one thrilling recording.

Some listeners might not like these players' rawness and grit, which is evident from the very first measures of the opening Concerto No. 2. Manze improvises cadenzas for three of these concertos that are as wild--and as far from prim-and-proper Baroque-isms--as one could imagine. The fast movements are truly breathtaking, building to a heart-stopping climax in the C minor concerto's final movement. (The culmination of that Allegro non molto is so agitating, and so exhilarating, that I played that movement three or four times in a row before I could bring myself to move on to the rest of the disc.) But when Vivaldi calls for lyrical sweetness, Manze is as delicate as can be, such as in the Concerto No. 7's dolorous Largo. The sound is close and true-to-life, and the resulting recording is a must-hear.

domenica 28 settembre 2014

Medea,
granddaughter of the Sun, queen and sorceress, falls prey to the
green-eyed monster and bursts forth in rage when it becomes clear that
Jason, he of Golden Fleece fame, is canoodling with pesky Hypsipile (at
one time queen of an island of women with bad breath, but that's another
story). Beginning with Francesco Cavalli in the middle of the
seventeenth century, operatic composers began to explore the manifest
possibilities of this situation, and French composers quickly followed
the fascinating Italians in this respect. The locus classicus was
Charpentier's Médée (1693), and it's a bit hard to understand why
mezzo-soprano Stéphanie d'Oustrac did not include a selection or two
from that opera as a reference point. Her program consists mostly of
cantatas, but portions of one (at the time) well-known opera,
Gianettini's Medea in Atene, are included.